


Blood On Your Hands

by NerdyFangirl88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe-No John, F/M, First Meetings, M/M, Multi, Reader is John in a sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyFangirl88/pseuds/NerdyFangirl88
Summary: Can Sherlock Holmes find a way to wash the blood of the patients you couldn't save off of your hands? Or are they forever stained?





	

Losing too much blood means the inevitable end. The final time the curtains draw to a close when life has drained every ounce of being from you. Like a vampire, pulling the plug on your veins to let the blood swiftly exit its vessel. But you, on the other hand, always seemed to have an excess of blood staining your fingers.When life was done with its victim, you see, the literal “Red Sea” would drown your hands in more ways than one. Guilt soon became your left, and Shame, your right. 

 

You always could be left speechless when someone’s whole life soaked your white gloves. Every scraped knee and bloody nose were just here, painting the palms of your hands. That world quickly became too much for you, so you decided to outrun all of the blood. All of the blood that you couldn’t stop life from taking. But, of course, without that world, you had no means of money. 

 

A friend suggested sharing the rent for a shelter with a flatmate and coaxed you to meet their suggestion for such. At a crime scene of all places. Your suggested flatmate stood in the world of blood you had tried to run from, but his eyes, the eyes of calculation and temptation, invited you back in, with the door wide open and beckoning. But, this world of blood wasn’t the same one you left. In this world, the crimson gasoline that runs our bodies was spilled purposely, to make the end draw so much closer. 

 

Your body language and discomfort was no mystery to him, the man in the center of that world you used to know; the blood didn’t make you queasy, like others. That much was easy to tell. Once he deduced that you were a doctor, despite that you had tried to leave it behind you,  the puzzle pieces fit together as easily as your hand in a surgical glove.  The blood only reminded you of those you couldn’t save; the patients that only left the operating room to go take up space in the morgue. The man’s dark nest of curls and abyss-like eyes left that red world briefly, joining you and taking your hands, attempting to be almost human for once. A human with sympathy, grasping at distant strands to give off the emotion many called Comfort. To you, it was a stranger who understood and sought to soothe your trouble. To others, it was a man named Sherlock acting very irregular. 

 

He pulled you gently back into the blood world you had left behind. The world that guilted you, horrified you, and haunted you. But maybe, just maybe, the blood wouldn’t soak your hands for once. And with this consulting detective, you could catch all of those with another’s life on their hands. Because God only knows, the blood on yours had finally washed off. 

  
  



End file.
